


It Started with the Cookies

by nottoolateforthegame



Series: 31 Days of Porn 2017 [10]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: John Watson is a damn tease, M/M, Oral Fixation, PWP, blowjob, handjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 14:51:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12819906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nottoolateforthegame/pseuds/nottoolateforthegame
Summary: "Sherlock was certain he was going mad. Wanting John wasn’t new. Craving his touch, fantasizing about what he would do if he were allowed to touch, kiss, make love...Sherlock was used to loving John and wanting him. What was new was this obsession with John eating, drinking. What was new was the way he had to fight to keep himself from acting on the urges to kiss John, to taste the flavor on his tongue, to feel the sticky sweetness on his lips, to nibble and suck and taste. He couldn't understand why his body was suddenly trying so desperately to betray him."





	1. Cover for It Started with the Cookies

**Author's Note:**

> For [ AtlinMerrick’s ](http://atlinmerrick.tumblr.com/post/159721211399/porn-challenge-2017-any-fandom-any-length-of)[ 31 Days of Porn Challenge ](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/31_Days_of_Porn_Challenge_2017). 
> 
> Prompt #4-Food


	2. Chapter 2

It started with the cookies. Specifically, Mrs. Hudson’s Christmas Snowball cookies. She had left a tray of them upstairs, and John had helped himself to a few. After his second or third, Sherlock had caught himself staring. At John’s lips. At John’s bottom lip, where a just a bit of icing sugar had settled. Sherlock had found himself unable to look away as the urge to lean forward and lick the sugar from John’s lip had surged through him. It was sheer willpower that kept him in his seat. Of course, John had noticed him staring. He’d swiped the sugar away from his lip with his thumb, sucking the appendage into his mouth slightly to remove all traces of the sweet temptation. When he’d picked up his mug to sip some tea, Sherlock had finally snapped out of his trance and acted as if he hadn’t just spent the last few minutes barely holding himself back from pouncing on his flatmate and friend. John didn’t seem to have noticed anything amiss, so all was well.

Unfortunately for Sherlock, since the cookie incident, his transport seemed to have decided that John eating was somehow suddenly incredibly erotic and hard to resist. The evening of the cookie incident, they had been at Angelo’s celebrating the close of another case. John had ordered raviolis, and Sherlock had found himself watching the way John’s mouth opened for each bite, his mind whispering to him about how it would feel to have John open his mouth wide and wrap it around Sherlock’s prick.  He'd been hard under the table by the time dessert had come around, and had needed to excuse himself to the bathroom to splash water on his face and calm himself down before they’d left. He’d decided he must need a good wank, and had in fact indulged later that night, hoping that would be the end of it.

But the problem continued. Over the next few days, Sherlock had been hyper aware of John eating and drinking. When John ate orange segments, Sherlock couldn’t decide which he wanted more-to lick the juicy flavor from John’s fingers or replace John’s fingers with his own to be licked and suckled as he fed John the pieces. When John ate pudding, licking the spoon, Sherlock had needed to leave the room or risk dropping to his knees and begging John to lick _him_. When John had swallowed mulled wine, Sherlock had watched his throat work, then licked his own lips when John had licked his own, stained red from the wine and still wet.

Sherlock was certain he was going mad. Wanting John wasn’t new. Craving his touch, fantasizing about what he would do if he were allowed to touch, kiss, make love...Sherlock was used to loving John and wanting him. What was new was this obsession with John eating, drinking. What was new was the way he had to fight to keep himself from acting on the urges to kiss John, to taste the flavor on his tongue, to feel the sticky sweetness on his lips, to nibble and suck and taste. He couldn't understand why his body was suddenly trying so desperately to betray him.

And now, _now_ Sherlock was about to come in his pants like some virginal teenager (not entirely far from the truth of his situation, but still, he’d like to believe he could maintain some semblance of control over his transport). The problem was, John had come home from the office with a candy cane. Only, it wasn’t _just_ any candy cane. It was some sort of novelty candy cane _stick_ that must be half a meter long, and proportionately thick. And, of course, John had decided that he needed to sit across from Sherlock in his chair and lick and suck this, this, this-ludicrous candy confection!

Sherlock forced his eyes closed and tried to focus on breathing. In and out. Slow, deep breaths. He tried to pull up images of Mycroft, or Anderson, or even the time he’d walked in on his parents when he was four. But no, he could only picture John, mouth wrapped around the red and white candy stick, lips forming a tight, wet seal, sliding it further and further into his mouth, down his throat...Sherlock exhaled noisily and opened his eyes. He was startled to find John watching him, candy set aside. John held his eyes for a moment, then his face melted into sympathetic lines as a soft noise escaped his throat.

“Oh, Sherlock. I didn’t realize. I only meant to tease a bit, love.” John stood up, came to kneel before Sherlock. “Let me make it better?”

Sherlock could only stare. His brain, lacking in blood, obviously, couldn't process what was happening.

“Hngh?”

John ran his hands up Sherlock’s thighs and leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Sherlock’s lips.

“I noticed you watching me, you know. Do you know how much it turned me on to have you eye fucking me every time we shared a meal? I’ve wanked more over the last week than I have in years, thanks to you. I could practically read your mind, tell what you wanted me to do to you...but you never said anything, never asked.” John’s voice was a low murmur, the words practically pressed into Sherlock’s skin as he dragged his mouth from Sherlock’s mouth, across his jaw, to his ear. “I nearly caved and begged you to let me suck you off at the breakfast table this morning, you know. You were licking your lips while you watched me eat that banana, and I could see your cock outlined so perfectly in your pajamas. God, I just wanted to drop to my knees and swallow you down.”

Sherlock moaned and his legs fell apart at John’s words. He didn’t have a clue how they’d wound up like this, but he would be an idiot to let the opportunity pass.

“Please.” the word whispered across his lips as they sought John’s out once more.

As their lips slid softly together, John’s hands busied themselves with Sherlock's pajamas (which he hadn’t changed out of that day). He dragged the waist out and down, carefully freeing Sherlock's throbbing erection. Sherlock hissed as the air of the room caressed his skin, much cooler than his heated flesh. John sat back on his heels, eyeing Sherlock’s nearly purple cock.

“Jesus. That’s got to be uncomfortable.”

“Please, John.” Sherlock needed John to stop talking and start touching or sucking or anything! anything! to relieve the pressure and help him get off.

John seemed to understand. Suddenly he leaned forward and took Sherlock down to the root, burying his nose in Sherlock’s pubic hair. He stayed there for a moment as Sherlock swore and gasped and grasped desperately at John’s hair. As soon as Sherlock relaxed back against the chair, breath ragged, John began sliding up and down, torturously slow as he maintained tight suction around Sherlock’s cock. Sherlock couldn’t help the thrust of his hips, the tightening of his fingers in John’s hair, the pleading whine that escaped his throat. John pulled off with a wet pop, giving him a devious grin, and then he was back at it, taking Sherlock deep, bobbing fast, using his tongue to tease the ridge of Sherlock's frenulum on each pass, his hand coming up to fondle Sherlock’s balls gently. Sherlock felt his cock touch the back of John’s throat on the next pass and John hummed, deep and low, and suddenly Sherlock was coming, back arching, eyes rolling, mind blanking.

When he came back to, John was resting his head on Sherlock’s thigh, one hand rubbing Sherlock’s thigh, the other clearly working his own cock given the motion of his shoulder and arm against Sherlock’s leg. Sherlock grunted in displeasure and tugged at John, pulling him up so John’s cock was within reach. He gave the briefest moment to cataloguing the heft of John, the weight of his long, thick cock; before he gave over to the pleasure of stroking John, watching his face contort with pleasure as Sherlock worked him to completion. John came all over Sherlock’s lap, covering his groin with thick white come before sliding down to slump against Sherlock’s legs.

“That. Was. Fantastic!” John panted out.

“Hmmm…” Sherlock weighed the odds that this was just a one off for John against the hope that this was just the beginning of a new side of their relationship. He cleared his throat. “Perhaps next time, I can suck you off.”

John stiffened at his feet, and Sherlock instantly regretted his words. But then John groaned and pressed his face hard against Sherlock’s thigh.

“Christ. You’re going to kill me. Give me a few hours, and I’ll hold you to that.” John tilted his head back to grin up at Sherlock. “Meanwhile, you need a shower and I need off this floor, or I won’t be up for much more than lying there letting you have your filthy way with me.”

Sherlock grinned back. “Who says it can’t be both?”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Tumblr!](http://nottoolateforthegame.tumblr.com/)


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